


Cat Cafe

by BrittJK



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cat Cafe, Coffee Shops, F/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrittJK/pseuds/BrittJK
Summary: I had this idea about Emma loving cats and then cat cafes are a thing so this happened. Fun little meet-cute of Emma and Killian in the setting of a cat cafe.





	

For as long as she can remember, Emma wanted a cat. A tiny little thing, one she could carry with her in her backpack as she moves from foster home to foster home. A constant. Something to love her unconditionally when none of the foster parents seemed to care. She had decided early on in life that when she reaches an age when she can afford a cat, she will get one.

And of course, when she finally has a stable job and good money and a home to house said cat, the world decides to send her the biggest “fuck you” Emma has ever seen. Apparently it thinks Emma only deserves one thing to love her unconditionally, and that is her son Henry. Because the universe decided to make Henry allergic to cats. Like, super allergic. Like, they went to the shelter to just look at some and Henry was already in hives before they got through the lobby.

And Emma checked that this is truly her fate. She tried to tell herself it is dogs he is allergic to. But then Henry’s friend Jason got a dog and Henry is a-ok around him. Even able to sleep over.. And not that it is an awful existence. Emma loves her son completely and wouldn’t give him up for all the cats in the world. It’s just… she wants both. But eventually, Emma resigned herself to a life without cats, and a life with her son and probably some kind of hypo-allergenic dog in the future

That is, she had resigned herself. But then news came out that Storybrooke was jumping onto the whole “cat-café” idea, and suddenly a whole new world of feline-related afternoon activities opened themselves up to Emma.

On opening day, Emma showed up in the small space between getting off work and having to pick up Henry. She brought a change of clothes, and extra soap, and anything else she needs to clean herself off from dander so as not to have a child who cannot breathe the rest of the night. She is surprised to see so many people in there, the place practically full of people fawning over the cats, drinking their teas and having their conversations.

Emma finds a seat, but in the short twenty minutes she has in the café, none of the cats even pay her attention. Too many others with their toys already out and playing, and before she knows it, Emma is up and out and going to pick up Henry.

She goes back a week later, hoping the place would have calmed down from the hype. And thankfully she is right, finding a spot to sit and ordering a hot chocolate. This time she gets to pet three of the cats in the room, one of which purrs so loudly it nearly melts Emma’s heart. By the time Emma has to leave to get Henry, she nearly has to pry herself from the chair to leave, promising the cats she will return later to play.

And return she does. At some point, Emma thinks she may be the primary income for this café. She ends up bringing her work with her most days when the office is too stuffy or she needs a new location and mindset to start researching her latest mark. And it definitely helps calm her down after a skip gets away, or something falls through, to have a cat curled up on her lap as she types away on her laptop.

Some days she just brings a book, occasionally reading out loud to the cats when no one else is in the café. Other days she will forgo books and work altogether and get down on the ground and play with her new friends. It hurts Emma’s heart to know that all these cats are adoptable, and yet she continues to see the same ones week after week. But she also knows that in a choice between her son and these cats, she would choose Henry ten times over. That doesn’t mean she can’t come visit her furry friends every chance she gets.

After a month of almost daily visits when Henry is at school, Emma starts to pick favourites with the cats. The tabby is best for when she is an angry mood – he likes to brood with her. The calico is great for calming down – it’s purrs are the loudest and it’ll come to Emma as soon as she walks in, almost as if it can sense something is off. The Persian is best to play with – it is definitely not a lapcat, but if you have anything that jingles it’ll grab it right off you. Emma has had to spend many afternoons trying to wrangle her keys out of the cat’s paws before she can leave.

But the best one, the one Emma loves the most, is the small little grey one. It is the fluffiest thing Emma has ever seen, and though she knows it is almost three years old, it is still only a little bit bigger than the size of a kitten. And it’s eyes – they are probably the bluest eyes Emma has ever seen. When it looks up at Emma with it’s big blue eyes, she is putty in its hands. Plus, it is the best cuddler. Though, not many other patrons know that. Grey-son, as Emma likes to call her, is the shyest cat in the café. When more than a few people are in there, you can usually find her hiding under a side table, or within one of the many cat houses around the room. But, Emma is proud to say, Grey-son seems to have taken a liking to her.

Two weeks into her daily visits, Grey-son came out of hiding for the first time. Emma hadn’t noticed – was too absorbed in her research and listening to the calico’s purrs. But then she felt something brush her leg, and she looked down to find Grey-son sniffing her feet then curling up on top of them. It felt like a triumph, having this little scared thing choose her. The café wasn’t even completely empty that day – a man Emma occasionally saw in the café sitting at a far table reading a book.

From there, Grey-son continued to grow accustomed to Emma’s presence. First it was sitting at her feet. Then she would lick Emma’s hand if Emma brought it down for the cat to sniff. Next, Grey-son moved to curling up on the table next to Emma’s tea and laptop. And finally, after almost a month, Grey-son became comfortable enough with Emma to curl up in her lap and just watch as Emma continued to work.

It became routine – go into the café, have Grey-son come join her at the usual table, and tap out her work. After a few weeks of the café being open, Emma thinks she spends more time there than at work. So when on Friday afternoon Emma’s bail skip runs off, her bug gets a flat, and Henry ends up ditching her for a sleepover, Emma resigns to spend her night curled up with Grey-son in the café reading a book. Because that is the only way to salvage her night.

Entering the café when it is dark out is weird to Emma – she only really knows how the cats act during the day, always coming during work hours. The café is just as dead now as it is during the day, one man she has never seen before sitting in the corner reading a book. She takes a look around for the cats, trying to catch eye of Grey-son. She needs a cuddle, and she needs her cat. Only, she can’t see them. They don’t seem to be anywhere on the floor or near the cat trees. Usually at least one comes wandering over when she enters, but tonight? Nothing.

She finally looks back towards the man, and feels the ire start to grow as she sees who he has with him. Calico is napping by the man’s feet. Persian is playing with something the man is holding in the hand she cannot see. Tabby is on the table next to his drink, licking his hand where he holds a book. And Grey-son, that little traitor, is curled up on the man’s lap.

Emma feels herself growl, the need to just be with these cats without this man hogging them filling her up. She lets out a puff of air and storms towards the man, stomping her feet down a little too loud next to him and scaring calico awake.

“You have my cat,” she barks, the noise causing Tabby on the table to turns his head and hiss.

“Excuse me?” The man says, his hand flipping his book over to keep his spot as he drops it on the table. “These are cats that live here, love, they don’t belong to anyone.”

Emma freezes for a moment, the man’s blue eyes staring into hers. She gets a good look at him, her eyes scanning his black shirt tucked into tightly fitting jeans, lingering on the way the first two buttons are undone, some chest hair peaking out.

“Yeah, well,” she says, looking down to Grey-son and seeing him perfectly content in this man’s lap. “You’re hogging them all. And I had a bad day so I need my cat time, alright?”

Emma crosses her arms, waiting for the man to say something. He waits a moment, and then lets out a small laugh. Emma lets out a huff, unsure why this man is laughing at her when he obviously enjoys the cats as well.

“Love, they’re animals of their own free will. You can’t force one to come play with you.”

Emma stands up taller, her pride getting the better of her. “I can if I had a bad day and need to snuggle something. Besides, Grey-son probably likes me better anyways.”

“Greyson?” The man asks, his head tilting as he considers Emma’s words. “None of the cats are named Greyson.”

“I gave them my own names, alright? And the little grey one, the one on your lap? Her name is Grey-son and she is my favourite and I need her to come sit with me, okay?” The man doesn’t budge, but Emma can see a small smile forming on his lips. He looks down towards the cat on his lap, then his eyes move to the other three surrounding him, and Emma can feel the man’s resolve breaking. But then, just as quickly, a gleam forms in his eye and Emma fears for the next words out of his mouth.

“I think this one likes me better, love. I’ve never seen her curl up with anyone else in all my days at this café.”

Emma is about to form a retort when the man continues.

“Although, I could give her up to you. But then my lap would get cold, and none of these others are really lap cats. So, unless you’d like to take Greyson’s place, he’s staying put.”

Emma sputters, her mouth opening and closing, not sure what to say. Did this man really just suggest she sit on his lap in order to get the cat? But then she remembers her awful day, and how she had to pay for a rental car because the bug isn’t getting a new tire until tomorrow, and she just really needs Grey-son to stop being a traitorous little thing and get off this (kind of ridiculously hot, not that Emma is looking) guy’s lap.

“Okay, how about you give me the cat, and I leave you alone to whatever book you’re reading there?”

“But what is the fun in that?” The man says, shrugging. He is quiet for a moment, appraising Emma, and then his eyes light up. “I’ve got a better proposition for you…” the man lingers off, not sure what to call Emma.

Emma shakes her head. “Give me the cat, and then you might get a name.”

“Give me a name and you might get the cat.”

“I don’t tell strangers my name,” Emma says, hoping that’ll shut him up. Unfortunately, that just makes the man’s face light up even more and he smiles, slowly turning in his chair to face Emma, the hand holding whatever toy the Persian was playing with moving to keep Greyson from being jostled. He holds out his free hand instead, an open invitation. “Killian Jones. 33, just moved here a few weeks ago. Work down by the docks. There, now I’m not a stranger anymore.”

Emma keeps staring at the hand, not sure what to do.

“Come on, love,” Killian says, his eyes rolling. “Try something new. It’s called trust.”

“Will I get Grey-son back if I do this?” Emma asks, her hand wearily moving closer to Killian’s.

“Sailor’s honour, love.”

Emma sighs, but her hand moves to shake Killian’s. She is surprised at how warm it is, hard callouses rubbing against her skin and cool metal of a few different rings causing a sharp contrast to what she was expecting. “Emma Swan. 29, been here for ten years, and I catch criminals for a living.” She lingers a moment, her hand not wanting to leave Killian’s, before saying. “Now give me my cat.”

Killian lets out a laugh and his hand tightens, catching Emma’s as she begins to pull away. “I’ll give you the cat,” he says, Emma managing to pull her hand out of his grasp, “but you should have coffee with me.”

“Why?” Emma asks, some of her anger going away as Grey-son is passed into her arms. The cat purrs as soon as she rests onto Emma’s shoulder, and Emma feels herself relaxing almost instantaneously.

“Because it’ll be infinitesimally more fun than us both sitting in silence reading whatever nonsense we’ve brought with us today.” Emma sighs, kind of agreeing with Killian’s logic. And it is much easier to agree to anything he says now that she has a soft fur-ball purring in her arms. She moves to the other chair across the way, careful of the cat near Killian’s feet. “And,” Killian continues, just as Emma is sitting down, “I am told that a dashing rapscallion like meself should probably end up meeting more people in this town than the barkeep and the café owner.”

Emma rolls her eyes, ignoring Killian’s words in favour of giving Grey-son a kiss and snuggling her up next to Emma’s cheek. The cat is small enough that she fits on Emma’s shoulder perfectly, and Emma smiles as Grey-son instantly curls up and begins breathing steadily.

They sit in silence, the only noise in the café the purr of cats and the sounds of Emma and Killian breathing. A waitress breaks the silence, taking Emma’s order for hot chocolate and refilling the cat’s dishes on the side of the room before heading back into the kitchen area.

Emma doesn’t really know what to say, just looks at Killian across the table as he looks at her. She must look like a mess, her make-up probably mussed up from chasing after a skip that afternoon. Her hair frazzled from when she ran her fingers through it in frustration. A small cat curled up on her shoulder like she is a cat tree. But Killian seems content to just look at her, so Emma takes the opportunity to look back.

After a few minutes though, Emma doesn’t really have anywhere else to look. The man is beautiful, objectively speaking. Emma probably wouldn’t use his term of “dashing” but handsome, hot, gorgeous, maybe. Fuckable, if Emma is feeling particularly adventurous in her word choices. And his eyes are blue like the ocean, Emma avoiding them because otherwise she will drown.

“So, are we going to just stare at each other, or are you going to say something? I thought that was the whole point of me sitting here and not, say, at my usual table across the way?”

Speaking seems to break whatever spell Killian is in, his entire body jumping slightly before he resettles down. His hand moves out to scratch Tabby on the table, and then he finally looks back up to Emma with apologetic eyes.

“Apologies, love. I just… I didn’t actually think you’d sit down, is all.”

“Right, okay. Well, I’m here. So, let’s talk.”

Emma didn’t expect to talk to this man about anything really important. The weather. Stock market, maybe. The new TV show about doctors or police officers or super heroes or whatever else they’re putting out now. But Emma finds that talking to Killian, this man she didn’t know existed an hour ago, is actually more fun than she thought and exactly what she needed after her trying day.

Killian is quirky in the best ways, it coming out in his odd choice of words (who even says bushel anymore?) and the way his eyebrow quirks up when he gets really into his stories. And he has lots of stories – ones about an older brother, stories of being in the Navy, stories of fixing up all sorts of ships on the docks in just four weeks in Storybrooke. And even made-up stories, of pirates, Neverland, princesses and faeries.

And as cocky as he is, something about him makes Emma open up. Maybe it is her long day, or maybe it is Grey-son who migrated down to Emma’s lap, or maybe it is just the familiar and homey feel of the cat café, but Emma ends up talking to Killian about more than she has ever told anyone. She talks of foster homes, and family. Of catching bail skips, and some of her more interesting stories. Of feeling lonely. Of feeling lost.

Killian gets it – he has stories of loneliness and loss too. He shows her a tattoo on his arm, talks of losing his wife in a car accident. Talks about his father, how he hasn’t seen the man in years and was practically raised by his brother.

And yet they also discuss lighthearted things. Funny stories of the cats on previous visits, mentions of embarrassing moments, the time Emma had to dress up as a clown for a kid’s birthday party to catch his no-good deadbeat father, the time Killian lost a bet to his brother and had to streak down Abbey Road on three separate nights. Emma even brings up Henry, something she rarely does when meeting men for one night stands, but often does when she is trying to gauge his reaction for actual consideration of friendship (or more, Killian is both really hot and absolutely adorable). Thankfully, he passes with flying colours, asking all the right questions about Henry while not seeming overly distraught that she has a child to begin with. Plus, Emma gives herself an internal high-five at Killian’s casual question about Henry’s father. And another when he seems to light up at Emma’s answer about him “not being in the picture anymore.”

The conversation just flows, Emma drinking more than her fair share of hot chocolate and barely even noticing when Grey-son moves from her lap to the table to eventually laying at her feet.

“Alright, so why is it that you come here so often then, love? You know my sorry reason, because I am new to town and have no friends but these cats. But you’ve been here years, have friends.”

Emma shrugs. “I always wanted a cat. And when I couldn’t get one, this was a good alternative.”

“And why can’t you get one?” Killian asks, and Emma is surprised to find he is still interested in what she has to say.

“Turns out when the thing you want more than anything in life makes your son break out into hives, it isn’t meant to be.”  

Killian smiles, nodding. “Ah, I can understand that. The sacrifices you make for love.”

“Right,” Emma says, the smile returning to her face slightly.

They stop talking then, just looking into each other’s eyes. And Emma lets herself swim into them this time. Let’s the comfort of the cats and the kind conversation, and the connection she feels take her away. That is, until she hears someone clearing their throat next to her.

“Are you two going to keep staring into each other’s eyes forever? Because we have to close.”

Emma and Killian both look to the barista, each letting out a small laugh. They slowly stand up, making sure not to drop or step on a cat as they do. Emma pulls out a few bills, leaving them on the table. Killian goes to protest, trying to push her money away.

“Hey, you got me to cheer up from my awful day. Paying for tea is the least I can do.”

Killian pauses, his hands still on his wallet, before he closes it and puts it away. “Thanks, love. But I have no way of repaying you. I don’t even know how to contact you.”

“Oh, smooth one there,” Emma says, throwing caution to the wind and grabbing Killian’s hand as she heads to the door of the café. “That is one way to get a girl’s number.”

Emma feels Killian chuckle, and she avoids looking back at him until she has pulled him out the double-doors of the café and into the cool night. The street is almost pitch black, nearing close to ten at night, and Emma shivers in the cold.

“Give me your phone,” Emma says when she finally turns back to Killian, breaking their connection and holding out her hand impatiently. Once she has the device, she quickly types in her number with the moniker “crazy cat lady” before handing the phone back to Killian.

They stand there in silence again after, both not really knowing what to say. A cool wind blows, and Emma shivers again.

“You’re cold. You should get on your way, love.” Killian says, though as he does he pulls off his leather jacket and wraps it around Emma’s arms. She smiles, subtly angling her head downwards so she can inhale the scent of the leather. It smells like cats after the time in the café, and makes Emma smile.

“Right. Goodbye, then,” Emma says, turning to walk down the road towards where the rental is parked. She turns back around, eyeing Killian as he continues to stand in place outside the café.

Just as Emma unlocks the rental, she hears Killian call, “So when can I expect my jacket back, love?”

Emma lets out a laugh, pulling the door open and calling back to Killian, “Monday, 2PM, this café. That work for you?”

Killian laughs, then calls back, “It’s a date, love!” 

Emma nods, and doesn’t say anything back. She climbs into the rental, closing the door and locking it instantly out of habit. But before she goes to turn on the car, she lets out a small smile. She has a coffee date for Monday. Albeit one at a café filled with feline friends, but a date nonetheless.

As Emma drives away, watching Killian through the rear-view mirror, she realizes that for once it wasn’t the cats that cheered her up. It was companionship, comradery, common emotions and a pull towards another person she hasn’t felt in a while.

When she finally makes it home, Emma chances a glance at her phone before washing the cat smell off. There is one new message from an unknown number.

Emma opens it up, seeing a text message with a single cat emoji, and all the promise that comes along with it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! I had fun writing this one and imaging the adorable little cats curling up with our faves! Let me know what you think!! :D Feel free to come visit me on Tumblr at iminwinnipegthatsincanada!


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